“Incorrect. I was looking into the unsolved murder of a woman named Daisy O’Callaghan, and a pair of private citizens and wannabe sleuths stumbled their way into the investigation and eventual arrest, which was made by another department.”

Holly was momentarily taken aback but recovered quick enough. “But is it true you’re now investigating the murder of three, possibly four, sex workers from the ’90s in an unrelated case?”

“Where did you hear this,” Larkin asked.

“I have my sources, Detective,” Holly said with cool confidence. “Can you comment on the ongoing investigation related to the crime scene at Madison Square Park on March 30 and the shooting in Alphabet City on March 31?”

“No,” Larkin said. He hung up the phone.

“Who was that?” Doyle asked.

“Press.” Larkin glanced at him. “She knew about the victims in the Polaroids.”

“That was kept in-house.”

“I know.” Larkin stared across the bullpen at Ulmer’s empty desk. He picked up his phone again, dialed out, and put it to his ear.

“Detective Bosman” came the answer on the second ring.

“Bosman, it’s Larkin. Who did you speak to.”

“About what?” Bosman asked, his tone that of genuine confusion.

“The Polaroids from Ricky’s apartment.”

“Besides you and Detective Doyle?”

“Obviously.”

“No one beyond confirming with CSU that they didn’t find any other Polaroids in the apartment. Which I was going to actually call you about this morning… are we circling back to your ‘big cat, gonna attack’ attitude?”

“I just got off the phone with a journalist from The City who had details of this case.”

“Shit.” Bosman was quiet for a minute, then came back on the line, saying, “It sure as fuck didn’t come from me. I made third-grade six months ago. If a first-grade detective tells me to keep my mouth shut, that’s what I’m going to do. Whether or not I like them.”

Bosman’s words rang true to Larkin. He shot Ulmer’s desk a second look before saying, “I believe you.”

“Well, there’s that,” Bosman said with only a hint of sarcasm. “What do you want me to do?”

“Get real good at saying ‘no comment.’” Larkin opened the top accordion folder from his stack and removed the photographs from last night. He aligned them with his free hand, saying, “Tell me about the apartment.”

“No Polaroids, like I said. No masks either. They’ve taken all of the kitchen knives in as evidence to test—”

“Not necessary,” Larkin interrupted. “None of the victims were stabbed. Photographic and autopsy evidence suggests extreme blunt-force trauma.”

“But shouldn’t we get them checked out just in case?”

“There is no discernable reason to ask the department to cover unnecessary expenditures and inundate the labs when their time and resources can be put to other cases.”

“You’ve made your point. I’ll check with CSU about any potential nonbladed weapons at the scene.”

“It won’t be there, but go ahead.”